What You Need
by 08joanna
Summary: Post "Wilson's Heart," House & Wilson take baby steps back to each other. The episode that spawned a million fanfics, but I can't resist joining in the deluge. Will be a short multi-parter. Now complete at 5 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a week since Amber's death. House couldn't make it to the funeral, as he'd been moved from ICU after two days but was still hospitalized. On top of all the other guilt he felt, he keenly regretted not being there for Wilson. Wilson was still home, having spent the week involved in contacting Amber's family, making funeral arrangements, and moving his stuff from her apartment. He couldn't stay there after that first night, when he'd found the note under her pillow. It was just too hard to be surrounded by all her things. He gave the landlord notice, returned to the hotel, and let Amber's parents go through her belongings.

Wilson hadn't been to see House since the day House woke from his coma. Cuddy was a nearly constant presence in his room, and had given Wilson updates on his condition, but she didn't press him to see House; she knew he needed space and some time to recover a little. But House was about to be released, and Cuddy thought the chill between them had gone on long enough, so she stopped by Wilson's hotel room on the night before House's release. She knocked on the door and got no response. She knocked again.

"Who is it?" Wilson asked. Cuddy shuddered at the sound of his voice. It was like the voice of a robot, dull and lifeless.

"Cuddy. Can we talk for just a minute?"

"Yeah, I guess." Wilson opened the door and Cuddy walked in.

"How are you doing?"

Wilson shrugged. "Okay."

"It was a beautiful service. Are her parents still here?"

"No. They left. They'll be back in a couple weeks to finish clearing out the apartment. If you're here to find out when I'll be back to work, all I can say is I don't know, 'cause I just don't think I can do it right now."

"Of course not. Take as long as you need. No, I wanted to let you know that House is going home tomorrow. He still has a way to go, but he's ready to be released."

"Thanks for letting me know."

"That's it?"

"What else?"

"I just thought that now that he'll be home, and you can visit him privately, you might want to, I don't know – see for yourself how he's doing."

"I'm not sure I'm up for that."

"Are you angry with him? Is that it? Because he's not the one to blame, Wilson. He did everything he could to figure out Amber's case, putting his own health at risk several times. Why do you think he did that?"

"Because he's obsessively addicted to solving the puzzle."

"You know better."

"Because he's used to his mind working like a damn computer, and when it couldn't he was frustrated beyond belief."

"No, you know better."

Wilson stared at Cuddy and then looked away. He sat on the bed and looked like he was about to break down completely. Finally, he said, "Because he's my friend."

"Right. He's actually way more than your friend. He values you so much that he was willing to risk his life to help Amber, to help you."

Wilson teared up briefly, wiped at his eyes so Cuddy wouldn't notice, and then asked "How's he really doing?"

"The brain swelling is down, and the skull fracture's starting to heal. He still has headaches and some bouts of short-term memory loss, and he gets dizzy sometimes when he tries to stand, but -- like I said, why don't you go see for yourself?"

"I'll think about it."

"Please, Wilson. Do more than think about it. He needs to see you. He thinks you hate him, and it's not helping his recovery."

"I don't hate him. I just hate the situation."

"I know. And I understand."

"What time is he going home?"

"Probably around noon."

Wilson nodded. "I can't make any promises. But I'll try to stop by his apartment in the afternoon."

"Thanks, Wilson." Cuddy turned to leave, then turned back. "You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?"

"Not much."

"Well, try to get some rest. Maybe a sleeping pill?"

"I've tried them. I still can't sleep."

"See him. Maybe that'll help."

Wilson laughed derisively, and said, "Or just give me more reasons for insomnia."

"Wilson… I know this is hard." She put her hand on his arm. "Just take it slow."

"Thanks for coming by, Cuddy. And thanks for looking out for him."

"What else would you expect me to do? Someone has to."

"And that was always my job."

"No, it's a job we share, Wilson. Don't feel like it's all on you. I do it because he matters to me. Both of you matter to me. Good night. Try to sleep."

"I will. Thanks again."


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Wilson reconsidered seeing House. Despite Cuddy's urging, he just didn't feel ready, and didn't know what to say. Basically, he felt ashamed that he hadn't been to see House sooner, and didn't want to face him and try to explain himself. But, as the day wore on, and he started to feel quite isolated sitting alone in his sterile hotel room, he finally made his decision and drove the familiar route to House's apartment. He used his key to open the outside entrance, and then knocked on House's apartment door.

"Back already, Cuddy? I told you I could manage alone for a while," boomed House's voice from inside.

"No, it's not Cuddy. It's me," Wilson replied.

"Oh," House quietly answered. "Come in. Use your key."

Wilson entered and saw House stretched out on the couch, under a blanket. A large pitcher of water was on the coffee table, along with a glass, several pill bottles, and dishes from lunch. Cuddy had obviously left him well-stocked. The boring new light brown cane (minus flames), as well as a pair of arm crutches, were on the floor next to the couch. Wilson glanced at them, frowning, and then looked at House, who appeared tired and thinner than usual. Wilson stood awkwardly at the end of the couch.

"Have a seat, Wilson," House said.

"I can't stay long."

"You just got here. Have a seat and talk to me."

Wilson sat on the one open spot on the coffee table and stared at his feet. Still looking down, he asked, "So, glad to be home?"

"Yeah, I am. Is that really what you came here to say?"

"No, I just… I should've come sooner."

"You had other things on your mind. I get it. I wanted to make it to the funeral, you know? Sorry I couldn't."

"It all went by in a blur. I can barely remember it. Amber's parents kind of took charge."

"So that's where she got it from, huh?"

Wilson cracked a smile. "I guess so. They're a pretty intense pair."

"You still at the apartment?"

"No, the hotel. I couldn't stay there."

"Yeah."

The conversation halted and the silence was deafening. Wilson stood up and started pacing back and forth behind the couch. Finally, House pushed himself into a sitting position and grabbed Wilson's arm as he passed by.

"Wilson, stop. Will you just calm down and look at me?"

"Calm down? You want me to calm down. Easier said than done."

"You're mad at me."

"Maybe a little. Mostly I'm just mad at the world."

"You mean at God?"

"I don't know. At whoever or whatever has any control over this craziness."

"No one has control, Wilson. Stuff just happens. Amber certainly didn't deserve what happened to her. I never should've labeled her a bitch. Cut-throat, yes, but she wasn't a bitch."

Wilson's eyes flashed with incredulous anger. "This is your big revelation? I'm leaving."

"No. Don't go. I just mean, she redeemed herself. She really loved you – you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"It was never personal for you before, was it? I mean, you've lost a lot of patients, young patients. That never seems fair. And some are harder than others. Andie."

At the mention of that name, Wilson looked like he'd been punched in the gut. He nodded and said in a whisper, "It's over a year since she died."

"I know. We gave her time she wouldn't have had otherwise, but in the end, well – what will be will be."

"It's easy to be fatalistic when it doesn't personally affect you."

"That's what you think? That none of this affects me? Andie, Amber, 13?"

"What about 13?"

"You haven't heard? She took the genetic test for Huntington's. It was positive."

"Damn. What a shame."

"Yeah. Hopefully she won't have symptoms for years, but still – it's damn depressing to think about."

Wilson shook his head and started pacing again. "Let's change the subject," he said.

"Fine by me. What would you like to discuss?"

"Anything but death. Seen any good movies lately?"

"Cute. Obviously not."

"No soaps, at least?"

"I couldn't concentrate on watching TV the first few days, and then the noise made my headaches worse."

Wilson stopped walking and sat on the arm of the couch at House's feet. "So, how are you doing, anyway?"

"Better enough to be home."

"That's not an answer. What's with the crutches?"

House rolled his eyes. "Cuddy insisted. They're just for balance, in case I get dizzy. Probably won't need them."

"Leg's not worse?"

"Not worse – just out of practice."

"How's your memory?"

"Well, I remembered you. It's Foreman, right?"

"Okay, okay. No more medical questions."

House looked up at Wilson, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then shook his head and turned away.

"What?" Wilson asked.

House hesitated, and then slowly said, "Actually, I wanted to tell you something about that."

"Go on," Wilson said, now intrigued.

"Well, I had a lot of time to think lying in a hospital bed for a week. I came to the conclusion that I've already had more close calls than any one person can rationally expect to survive."

"I never thanked you for risking…"

"No, that's not why I'm saying this. I don't want your thanks. I just – I'm gonna try to take better care of myself from now on."

"In what way?"

"In every way I can handle. Eat better, less booze, try to exercise a little, try to get off the Vike."

"Really? You think this is the right time to try that again?"

"I'm not talking about cold turkey here, Wilson. I just wanna give my liver a break. Maybe cut back and try some other meds in conjunction with it. Do some PT, maybe."

"Wow."

"Don't get excited. It's just in the planning stage at the moment. My head's gotta heal first."

"What brought this on?"

"All of it. The crash, the heart attack, the seizure. Look – I'm stuck in this body for the long haul. I have no illusions about that. But I can at least try to make the best of it."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Gregory House?"

"He's still here. Just wising up a little in his old age. Truth is, I owe you this, Wilson."

"You don't owe me anything."

"Yes, I do. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"She should've been home in bed, waiting for you."

"And where do you think I would've been?"

"What do you mean?"

"If she'd stayed home and you got on that bus alone, where would I have been?"

House's eyes locked on Wilson's, and he furrowed his brow. Then he finally sighed and said, "Worrying about me in the ER, right where you were."

"You bet."

"I don't deserve you, Wilson."

"That remains to be seen. Maybe I'm the one who doesn't deserve you."

Wilson rose to leave, and asked, "Need anything before I go?"

"Nah, I'm good. Think I got what I need."

"What about later? You set for dinner?"

"Cuddy said she'd be back."

"Of course, Cuddy. She's been great through all this, hasn't she?"

House nodded. "She'll do."

"Is that a sly way of saying you've got a newfound appreciation for her?"

"I've always appreciated her, if you know what I mean." House winked and displayed an exaggerated leer.

"You're incorrigible. Bye, House."

"Bye, Wilson." As Wilson closed the door and entered the hallway, House called after him, "Don't be a stranger!"


	3. Chapter 3

Another week went by, and Wilson had stopped in to see House nearly every day. Wilson returned to work at the end of the second week, while House was still home recuperating, and Wilson felt strangely out-of-place on his first day back at the hospital. He hoped people wouldn't treat him differently, as he hated being the object of pity or concern. He just wanted to get caught up on his work and have things get back to normal, if that was possible.

Everyone gave him space throughout the morning, but by noon Cuddy appeared at his door.

"Hi Wilson. How's it going?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

Wilson looked up from the piles of paperwork crowding his desk. "There's a lot to catch up on."

"Don't expect to do it all at once. Thought you might be ready for a lunch break."

"And since I usually have lunch with House, you thought…"

"Yeah. First day back – I just didn't want you to have to eat alone."

"No, that's okay. I should get used to it. House won't be working for a while."

"Really? Last I talked to him, he sounded pretty upbeat about that. Is he not doing as well as he wants me to think he's doing?"

Wilson shrugged. "It's hard to tell with him. As usual, he deflects medical questions and won't give me many details about how he's really feeling."

Cuddy nodded. "So you've been there a lot lately, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah, but we mostly just shoot the breeze and watch TV."

"Well, that's good."

"Did he tell you about his big plans for the future?" Wilson asked.

"What do you mean?"

"About his long-range thinking, you know, his new health kick."

"No, this is fascinating. What did he tell you?"

"Nothing specific. That's what has me sort of worried, and the fact that he didn't mention it to you. He said he knows he's cheated death more times than is reasonable, and wants to make some changes."

"That doesn't sound like him."

"I know, but he's been through a lot lately. I'm skeptical, though. Maybe he just said it because he thinks it's what I wanted to hear, and he feels like he owes me. He hasn't said a word about it since."

"He said he owes you?"

"Yeah. He still feels guilty about Amber. I've tried telling him that I don't blame him, but I'm not sure he believes it."

"Is it true? Do you really not blame him? Because, Wilson, he doesn't deserve to be blamed."

Wilson hesitated, and Cuddy stared him down.

"Maybe both of us were just saying what the other one wanted to hear."

Cuddy frowned, and turned to leave. Then she turned back and asked, "So, is that a definite no on lunch, or should I come back later?"

"Sorry, not today. I wanna keep at this a while longer," Wilson said, motioning to his desk.

"Okay. Remember to eat something, though."

"Thanks, I will."

Cameron knocked on Wilson's door around 2:00 and then tentatively opened it when he didn't respond. He was eating a sandwich at his desk, and looked up at her. He remembered her silently sitting with him when Amber was dying, and she now had that same look of near-tears empathy on her face. He knew he couldn't get away from that look, at least for a while. But it still bugged him somehow.

He nodded to her and she entered his office and sat in the chair opposite his desk.

"How are you, Wilson?"

He didn't know what to say. She thought she understood what he was going through. After all, she'd lost her husband at a young age. But she didn't understand. This was different. Her husband had been ill when she met him, and she always knew his chances were slim. She'd had time to adjust to the thought of losing him. The shock of losing a perfectly healthy young girlfriend in a violent accident was not comparable, even if they hadn't been married and had only been together a short time.

Wilson opted for a straightforward and simple, "I'm fine, thanks."

"Because if you ever want to talk…"

"No, thanks. I'd rather try to focus on work and get my mind off of it, you know?"

"Sure, I get that. But you can only do that for so long. Your mind always goes back to it eventually, doesn't it?"

"Cameron, look, I know you're trying to be helpful, but this really isn't necessary."

Cameron looked as though she'd been slapped. She stood up quickly and turned to go. "Fine, if that's what you want. I was only trying to be a friend."

"Sorry. I just don't know what to say. Talking about it doesn't help, really."

"Have you even really tried talking about it? Maybe you could talk to someone else if not to me."

"Like who?"

"I don't know. Cuddy, maybe, or even House."

Wilson laughed. "That's not gonna happen."

"Why?"

"Because I can't do that to him, not now. I can't let him know how hard this is for me. He already feels guilty enough."

"Cuddy, then."

"No. I'm dealing with this, okay? Just let me deal with it on my own."

"Where have I heard that before? You sound just like House. You're becoming more and more like him, you know that?"

"And I suppose you consider that a bad thing?"

"It isn't good or bad, Wilson. It's just House. But I always thought you were different. I always thought you were one of those guys who could open up, who wasn't afraid of his feelings, who didn't have to put on some macho act. When did you start to turn into him?"

Wilson looked away from her, and felt a rising anger. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe around the time the woman I loved had the bad luck to be sitting in the exact spot where a garbage truck slammed into a bus. Are we done?"

"Well, I can see you're not ready for this. Bye, Wilson."

Wilson looked down at his paperwork and said nothing as Cameron walked out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Wilson was exhausted after that first day back at work. He still hadn't been sleeping well, and had gotten used to making up the lost hours with short catnaps in the afternoon. He returned to the hotel and thought about dropping in on House, but soon dozed off in front of the tube. The garish ringtone of his cell phone woke him up around 10:30.

"Hello?" Wilson groggily answered.

"Where the hell are you?" House asked. "Thought you'd be by tonight."

"Sorry. I crashed after work."

"Not used to an honest day's labor anymore? How'd it go, anyway?"

"Okay. The paperwork was backed up, of course."

"Paperwork. Can't you think of anything better to do? That's what minions are for."

"I just like things to be organized. You know that."

"Yeah. It's one of your few character flaws. So, will I see you tomorrow?"

"You're really bored, aren't you?"

"Out of my mind. Never thought I could get so damn sick of doing nothing."

"I'll try to come by after work."

"Don't try. Come. You can even bring your Hitchcock collection."

"Not sure I'm really up to watching Jimmy Stewart lose his dream woman."

"Doesn't have to be _Vertigo._ Pick another Hitchcock. He gets to keep Grace Kelly in _Rear Window._"

"That's your favorite, isn't it?"

"Duh. Cripple outwits murderer. Right up my alley."

"House, I'm not sure I…"

"What? Getting tired of entertaining me already?"

"No, not really."

"Then what?"

"It's just, I don't know. Going back to work sort of got me down."

"Too much sympathy, huh?"

"Kind of. I hate it when people treat me like I'm fragile, about to break."

"Welcome to the club. I've been getting those looks for years."

"And you stop them by being an ass, right?"

"Yeah. I realize that's probably beyond your capabilities. So, who was the culprit? Let me guess – Cuddy, right?"

"Not really. She was okay. Cameron came by though."

"Ah yes, Cameron – the master of the pity face. Just tell her to mind her own business."

"I pretty much did."

"What a shock – good for you!"

"It didn't feel good."

"You'll get used to it."

"It's not who I am. Why am I not acting like who I am?"

"Don't beat yourself up. You've got plenty of valid reasons, Wilson."

Wilson didn't respond, and House thought for a moment that his cell must've gone dead.

"Wilson, you still there?" he asked.

Another moment of silence, and then a very quiet, "Yeah. I've gotta go, House. Need to get some sleep."

"Okay. You alright, Wilson?"

He waited for an answer, but Wilson had already hung up. House put the phone down and stared at it for a few minutes before hauling himself off the couch and slowly making his way to the bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Wilson didn't call or visit House the next day, or the day after that. House was concerned and thought of calling again, but wanted to give him some space. Finally, on Wilson's fourth day back at work, House decided to take matters into his own hands. He was starting to go stir crazy in the apartment anyway, and felt well enough and steady enough on his feet to venture out. As he still wasn't supposed to be driving, he called for a cab and arrived at Wilson's hotel room around 7:00 pm. He tentatively knocked, and got no reply.

"Wilson, you in there?"

No sound emerged from the room, and House tried again.

"Wilson, come on. You must be here. I called the hospital, and your office said you left early today."

House finally heard footsteps approaching the door. As Wilson opened it, House was somewhat startled by his appearance. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his typically neatly combed hair was disheveled.

"What are you doing here?" Wilson asked when he saw House at the door. "Shouldn't you still be home resting?"

"I'm tired of resting. And I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Well, let's see. You said you'd come by and you didn't. No calls, no contact. And you sounded weird in that last phone call three days ago."

"I didn't say I'd come by. I said I'd try to come by. I'm still trying to catch up at work."

"Right -- you're so swamped at work that you left early today, huh?"

"House, please. Don't give me the third degree."

"I wouldn't need to if you'd just tell me what's going on. Are you still angry with me? 'Cause I sort of thought that was behind us."

Wilson turned away from the door and walked into the hotel room. House followed and sat heavily on the bed.

"No answer? I guess that means you are still angry," House said. "Which I totally get, but why the silent treatment? Lay into me if you're mad. Shout, scream at me, throw something. Do something, for Christ's sake!"

"I'm not angry."

"Sure you're not."

Wilson walked to the other side of the room and stood with his back to House, facing the wall.

"Are you taking anti-depressants?" House asked. "Because it's seems like you could use them. They'd help you sleep, at least."

"No," Wilson said. "I'm not on them. I don't need them."

House scoffed. "Yeah, you seem cheery."

"Cheery. You want me to be cheery? I just lost someone I loved, House. Someone I could've really made a life with. I'm not gonna bounce back that quickly."

"I'm not expecting you to bounce back. I do expect you to get some help, at least, if that's what you need."

"You know what I need? How would you have the slightest idea what I need?"

"You think I don't know what you're going through? Maybe you're the one with memory loss. Think back, Wilson. Dark-haired lawyer, lived with her for a mere five years or so – Stacy, I think her name was."

"She's not dead."

"She might as well be. You don't think losing her was hard?"

"You didn't lose her. You pushed her away."

"Doesn't mean I didn't miss her. Still miss her."

"Well, then, you shouldn't have pushed her away. That was your doing, House. But Amber, God – she was 29, and it's just over, forever. 29."

"And she'd be here if it wasn't for me, right?"

"No."

"Yes, that's what's eating at you. She'd be here if I hadn't gotten wasted and called for a ride, if I hadn't been such a selfish prick, if I hadn't…"

"No! I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at myself, okay?"

"Why? For not being home to pick me up? You were at work, you couldn't have..."

"I wrote her the scrip for Amantadine! I killed her!" Wilson finally blurted out. "She was complaining of flu symptoms, and I gave her the drug that killed her!"

Wilson covered his face with his hands and started sobbing. House pushed himself up and walked over to Wilson, touching his shoulder, but Wilson backed away.

"Wilson, this is crazy. You couldn't have known. The drug wouldn't have hurt her if not for the kidney failure. And her kidneys would've been fine if not for the crash. Blame me, if you need to blame someone. Just don't blame yourself."

"I can't help it," Wilson said through choked breaths. "It's my fault. She's gone and it's my fault."

"No, it's not. It just happened. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that wasn't your doing. Wilson, come on."

Wilson looked up, tears still running down his face, and turned away from House again.

"I've lost her, and I'll probably lose you, too. I don't think I can handle that."

"What are you talking about? I'm fine."

"You're fine? That's a joke. You always say that, even when you're anything but fine. I prescribed for you for years, supplied you with a drug that'll probably kill you eventually, and you have no intention of changing anything, do you?"

"I told you I was gonna try to cut back."

"You didn't mean it. You only said it to get me to forgive you."

"Why do you think that?"

"You haven't said a word about it since."

"I'm still researching other possibilities, and I'm not healed enough to try anything like that yet."

"You think I'm an idiot? You'll never be healed enough. You'll always be in pain, and you'll never want to try anything else."

"Why would you think I'd lie about that? I just need some time to recover from this head injury."

"I don't believe you. You didn't mention it to Cuddy or anyone else. Why didn't you mention it if you really intend to do it?"

House looked away, hesitated, and then quietly answered, "Because it's private. And I didn't want to get her hopes up, or make a big deal out of it."

"But getting my hopes up is okay, even if they're dashed in the end?"

House walked over and held Wilson by both shoulders. "Wilson, listen to me. I mean it. I am gonna make some changes. Come over and check out my laptop, if you want proof. I've been on there every day, researching the latest studies on new nerve block treatments, timed-release painkillers without acetaminophen, muscle relaxants, even alternative therapies."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'll send you an e-mail with all the links if you want. I don't know if I'll come up with a combination that works, but I am willing to try."

Wilson's face revealed a glimmer of hope. "Look, I'm, uh – I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"I get why you didn't. I've never been able to do it before, and I'm not sure I'll be able to now, but I will try. I promise that much, at least. I know it's probably not enough for you. I know it's not what you need to hear."

"It's enough. It's a lot."

Wilson seemed calmer now, and House smiled. "So, since I'm here anyway, how about that Hitchcock marathon?"

"Maybe just one. You may be a man of leisure right now, but I still have to get up for work in the morning."

"Okay, your choice," House said.

Wilson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Grace Kelly **was** gorgeous, wasn't she?"

"Absolutely!" House licked his lips and grinned.

"Alright -- _Rear Window_ it is, then."

House nodded, and Wilson located the DVD.

Wilson put it in the player, sat down on the bed, and sighed. "Maybe next time I'll be ready for _Vertigo_."

"There's no rush. Give yourself time."

A short while into the movie, as Jimmy Stewart got an eyeful of the luscious Miss Torso, House motioned to the screen and said, "I've gotta get a good pair of binoculars."

Wilson looked over at him, with an amused expression on his face, and chuckled softly.

"What?" House asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Thanks for coming over tonight, House."

"No problem, Jimmy."


End file.
